Don't It Make You Sad To Know That Life Is More Than Who We Are?
by Jenny Jennson
Summary: The more she thought about it, the more Clary realized that Jace was right. Just like a leopard couldn't change its spots, a person couldn't change overnight. But, they could change in seven months. AU/AH
1. Chapter 1

She surveyed the four with a sigh.

"This a chance for a new start." She said, brushing a hand across her dark hair, as if to ensure herself that it was still pulled back into its impossibly tight bun. "You should be more excited."

"Excited?" He repeated, disbelief dripping from his tone. "To be moving halfway across the country right before my senior year? Yeah, mom, _I'm thrilled."_

Jace and Isabelle shared a look.

Usually, Alec was the most reserved out of all of them.

They had all been thinking it, really, with maybe the exception of Max, who was only eight, and still young enough to not understand the meaning of the word _divorce,_ Alec had just beaten them to the punch.

Max was currently standing beside him, backpack resting against his shoulders, and a grin on his face, the only one even remotely excited about the _new start._

"Can I ride with Jace?" He asked.

Jace nearly smiled, raking his hand through the kid's hair.

Maryse's lips formed a thin line.

"You can ride with Alec." She said, after a moment.

Isabelle scoffed. Alec drove so slowly, a snail had once passed him. Once, Cla-

 _No._ Jace thought. He couldn't go there anymore. He refused to.

"I'll go with you." She offered, tossing her hair.

"Thanks Iz."

"Sure." Isabelle replied. "Besides, there's only so much _NPR_ I can take."

Alec glared at her. "Excuse me for wanting to know what's going on in the world."

She shrugged. "Just go on Twitter."

"Shut up, Izzy."

 _"You_ shut up, Alec."

"Izzy..."

"Alec-"

"Isabelle." Maryse warned.

Jace moved to rest a hand on her shoulder as she rolled her eyes. Maryse had neglected to scold Alec, placing all the blame on her daughter. Typical.

Alec's gaze softened.

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but Jace shook his head.

It wasn't the time for a heart-to-heart.

Jace gripped his keys in his fist, pulling Isabelle along behind him towards his new jeep, a guilt gift from Robert, for, despite his repeated declarations that he would be coming to visit them soon, he knew they were all just empty promises.

Isabelle frowned as she slid in beside him.

She was still pouting over her own going away present, the glittering diamond bracelet currently fastened around her wrist. A car was out of the question until she passed her road test, though he was beginning to suspect she never would; she had already taken it eleven times to no avail.

The sunlight reflecting against her shimmering bracelet nearly blinded him before he could reach for his sunglasses, but

it wasn't what had caught his attention.

It was the braided band, strings frayed and colors faded, tied tightly around her opposite wrist.

His eyes narrowed, and she moved to cover it with her hand, as if she could feel him staring at it.

"Jace..." She began.

"Grow up, Iz." He spat.

It took everything in him to ignore her hurt expression.

He hadn't meant to snap at her, he was just angry, so furious. so resentful towards everything, and everyone; his father for tearing apart the family, his mother for moving him halfway across the country, and at Minnesota for not being New York.

His life was back in the city, as were his friends, and his piano, though Maryse had promised to get him a new one.

Robert had made no moves to contact any of them since their awkward goodbye lunch two days earlier.

He wished that his parents would have gone to therapy instead of separating in three days flat. Robert and Maryse weren't the type of people to stay together just because they had four children, three biological, one adopted. He couldn't recall a time they had actually _liked_ one another, why they had gotten married in the first place was still a mystery, so the pending divorce wasn't a huge shock to him.

Isabelle's voice brought him back to reality.

"I just..."

"Yeah." Jace mumbled, shooting her a rare, _very_ rare apologetic look. "Trust me, Iz, I get it."

He patted the front pocket of his jeans, just to ensure himself that his own bracelet was still there.


	2. Chapter 2

_"_ _One, two, three, four!"_

She resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears.

Sometimes, she wondered why she agreed to accompany Simon to _Sea Vegetable Conspiracy's_ , she was still trying to convince him that the name was awful, rehearsal.

They practiced together faithfully in Eric's garage every night, Monday through Friday. On Saturday's, they performed at a coffee shop around the corner from the brownstone she shared with her mother. She was dragged to those shows as well, where Simon would sit her front and center, where he could beam at her in between songs, and she would grin tentatively back at him.

Eric banged his sticks against the snare drum.

Clary winced.

She was not fond of Eric Hillchurch, though she would never tell Simon that. Eric was his next-door neighbor, the two had known each other most of their lives.

They weren't as close as she and Simon were, but they had formed the band together at the start of sophomore year, along with their friends Matt and Kirk.

Eric had apparently turned over a new leaf, and now had a girlfriend, Sheila 'The Thong' Barbarino, Clary's own nickname for the girl that had sat in front of her in math class the previous year. Every time she dropped her pencil, Clary had been treated to the sight of the girl's underwear riding up above the waistband of her low-rise jeans.

They had been dating for most of the summer, but just as she had predicted, because Eric was a sexist pig, he had gone back to his old ways, dating several girls at the same time, inviting each one of them to their band's gig. Clary didn't bother making small talk with any of them anymore. By the next week, they would be gone, never to be heard from again.

She could handle him when he was just Eric, the military history buff that always organized the war details of their weekly Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, thankfully, she did not have to attend _those_ , but there was another reason she didn't like Eric.

He had advised Simon to decide which girl in school had 'the most rockin' bod' and ask her out.

Simon was one of the sweetest guys she had ever met, and the last thing she needed was for him to turn into one of the boys she had grown up with, selfish, breaking countless hearts without a second thought.

"Clary?"

She blinked, snapping back to reality as Simon reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Clary replied cautiously. "Is it over?"

She winced.

She had meant to ask if he was _done_ , though he didn't seem to notice. He had already put away his guitar, and his backpack was slung across his shoulders. He motioned for her to stand, so he could return the stool she had been perched on for the last two hours to the kitchen.

Clary jumped to her feet, her sketchbook clattering to the floor.

Simon knelt down to retrieve it, his eyes scanning the page she had been working on for the last hour. "Who the hell is _that?"_

She snatched it back.

"Clary?"

"No one." Clary said, a little too quickly. "I, um... We should go, Si, my mom wants me home by nine."

He nodded sadly. "Ah, the end of summer."

He dragged the stool across the garage floor, kicking the door open with his foot.

The rest of the boys were already inside, and Matt called out to him, telling him to 'man up' and 'ask her out already.' She didn't want to know who they were talking about; Simon's love life was really none of her business, just like her drawings were none of his.

She surveyed the page, resisting the urge to tear it out, and rip it into a million little pieces.

She couldn't let Jocelyn see it.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop drawing _him._

His face seemed to appear against each blank sheet of her sketchbook, not smiling at her, but often looking sidelong, his lips twitching upward into the smirk she would have known anywhere. She had perfected the scar at his temple, where a rock had hit him on the playground in second grade, and the uneven curl at the corner of his mouth that he hated, the reason he had frowned whenever a camera was aimed his way. All the marks, and flaws and imperfections that made up the person she had loved most in the world.

"Clary?"

"Coming!" She called, shoving the pad of paper into her own bag.

She reached to brush her fingers across the only tangible piece of her past, only to find it gone.

Her wrist was bare.

Clary began to panic.

"Clary?"

Simon appeared in the doorway, though she barely noticed him, too preoccupied scanning the floor for any sign of it.

"Clary." He repeated. "What's wrong?"

"My bracelet!" She could have cried. "I can't find it!"

"Calm down." Simon said, taking hold of her arm.

He pressed something into her palm.

Her bracelet, the braided band, strings frayed, colors faded, but still as meaningful as it had been the day it was tied tightly around her right wrist.

"Oh my god!" Clary threw herself at him in a too tight embrace. "Where was it?"

He hugged her back just as easily. "It was on the floor of the kitchen."

She had gone inside an hour earlier to get a drink, and to spare her ears the horrendous noise coming from the garage.

"Why do you look so freaked?" Simon demanded

Clary didn't respond.

When she had first moved to St. Paul seven months earlier, everyone had been curious about the new girl, even Simon, who was the first, and really _only_ person to befriend her. She gave brief explanations, half-truths she had spent hours rehearsing in her head. Thankfully, the questioning had finally stopped after a week

She could never tell anyone who she truly was, because she could never be that girl again.

"Clary?"

"We should really get going." Clary declared, catching hold of his hand. "It's eight-forty-five."

Simon sighed. "I can't believe summer is officially over."

Labor Day had always been the most depressing holiday.

Summer was a much needed breath of fresh air and warm sunshine, a time for travel, vacation, celebrations, and rest, at least, it had been once, and even though the three months had been wonderful, everyone Clary knew was feeling unseasonably blue.

"I bet this year will be full of surprises." Simon mused, as he backed out of Eric's driveway.

Clary forced a smile. "Maybe."

She was really tired of surprises.


End file.
